Mass Effect: The Other
by Academ
Summary: Kaine, Peter Parker's, darker, brooding clone is mysteriously transported into the Mass Effect Universe, where Commander Shepard has just been resurrected by the shady Cerberus corporation and is seeking out the dossiers of the best killers and skilled individuals the Galaxy has to offer. Rated M for language mostly, and some blood and gore.
1. Chapter 1: Advent

**Mass Effect: The Other**

**Chapter 1: Advent**

**I do not in any way own Mass Effect or the Scarlet Spider. These characters, along with their respective universes, were fashioned by better writers than myself. They deserve all the credit for this story.**

I haven't ever had the chance to think about it since I left Houston. Mexico didn't last long. Only ever got to let my toes sink into the sand for an hour before Faira Namora came along. Then somehow I was fighting the High Evolutionary alongside a bunch of children. They called themselves the New Warriors. Aracely likes to think that she was the reason I eventually joined up with them.

But that wasn't it.

I joined them because I knew that eventually, without someone (or rather _something_) like me to protect them, they would all die. And it would have been my fault, because as much as I wish I could live by the motto "All of the Power, None of the Responsibility," contrary to my idiot brother's philosophy, I always seem to have responsibility shoved straight into my hands, regardless of whether or not I asked for it. Which I didn't. I never have. Probably never will.

I'd be lying if I said I never found myself enjoying my time with the New Warriors. They were good (stupid) kids. Most of them had self-righteous ideals, the naivety of which I found to be endlessly annoying, but that wasn't what made them special. What made them special, what made me feel like I actually belonged in their team, was that each of them had their demons. Demons that were perhaps even darker than my own, given my general impression of Speedball. Seriously haunting stuff.

There's not a single night when I don't have nightmares about _her_. I can only imagine how screwed up that kid's mind has been like since his powers acted up and blew up his school, killing all of his classmates along with the other students and faculty in the process. That was the kind of thing that fucked you up for life.

The only thing I can think of that could possibly be worse than that is coming back to life, being granted a second chance, when you know you don't deserve one. When you know that there are so many other strong, heroic souls who would be able to make the world a lot better place than you ever could have. I know this because I came back to life once, and I have found myself wondering ever since:

_Why me?_

The deranged clone. The imperfect copy. Decaying since birth. Killing innocents because he couldn't understand why he was born a monster. Meant to be a killer, and seemingly only good at that one thing. Who tortured his brother Ben, who was a good man. A better man than he could ever be.

My name is **Kaine** and I am not a hero.

_I really should be dead._

The gurney nearly crashes into the side of the wall when whatever moron is pushing it runs a corner. The sudden lurch that comes with the change of direction almost throws the body bag I'm in off the corpse cart altogether. I swear to myself that as soon as I find the zipper, I'm going throw said moron through a wall. Or two if he doesn't look hurt enough after going through just one.

The gurney goes down a couple more straight hallways before stopping before what I can only assume is a door to the morgue or something. "Hey, Serina," says a nasally voice, "can you buzz me in?"

"You forget your ID again?" another voice replied. It sounded tired and annoyed in a "no fucks given" sort of way. And feminine too, I noticed.

I hear the guy scratch the back of his stupid head, "Uh yeah. Look, I promise this is the last time it'll happen, okay? There's, uh, no need to tell Yelaris about this."

"Whatever." The door dinged like you might expect an elevator to when it finally arrives at its floor and the gurney started moving again, albeit a little more slowly than it had been before. The room must be small. I tried to use one of my stingers to tear through the body bag again, but it just glided harmlessly across the inner mesh it was lined with. What the fuck was the thing made of, Kevlar? And seriously, how has that idiot not noticed me moving around in here all this time? If I could yell at the idiot, I would. But something is keeping me from saying anything.

I hear the tap-tap high heels approach the gurney. "This is the last time I cover for you Cliff, am I clear?"

"Y-yeah. Crystal."

"Good. Now go clock yourself in."

"Of course, right away." As he scampered off somewhere, I heard the flat clap of a face palm.

"Stupid human," she muttered.

'Stupid human?' I thought. Who talks like _that_?

I heard the cart start to move again. "So, who are you?" she asks no one in particular, but I assume she means me. "A John Doe? Hmmm… That's odd… No records on the Alliance, Citadel, or Terminus databases. You are quite the mystery indeed." I didn't recognize any of those names beyond their formal definition as words. They were probably just a bunch of shadowy government organizations that watch and keep track people. Like SHIELD. Only, I don't really see how any viable acronym could come from any of those words.

"Says here you were found just outside of Telaria Square. Dead. Cause of death unknown. No signs of physical trauma or duress." We slowed down and began to turn. "Between you and me, it was probably an aneurism that did you in. But in the case of any suspicious death, I have to cut people like you open and see for myself. Because it's my job." There was a sadness in those words as she said them.

I felt the gurney lightly collide with a wall or something and come to a stop. "Personally, I would rather not have to do this altogether. I'm sure you were probably a nice guy who was just rushing home to make it on time to have dinner with their family."

Lady, if only you knew how wrong you are.

"But… if it's any consolation, I'll try not to take too long, and do my absolute best to seal up the incision when I'm done." That's so sweet of you, now could you open up the fucking bag already!?

"Dalia, disengage the stasis field and crack the shell open for me, would you?"

"Disengaging." Something responded. It had the monotone that reminded me of a machine. "The seals should break momentarily."

I heard a set of hissing sounds from within the bag. For a moment I find myself wondering why a body bag would have airtight seals installed on it. I mean, could you ever think of a waste of money more blatant than that? But then the light came rushing in, and my eyes were nowhere near ready for it. I couldn't help but groan at the discomfort as I rose from the "dead."

The room was nearly all white and chock full of smooth surfaces that all seemed to bleed into one another. I turned to my left and I saw her. She was… blue, which was odd, to say the least. Her mouth and eyes were wide open in shock. "Uh," I said. "I seem to be missing my clothes. Mind getting me some?" She dropped the round cylindrical instrument that'd been in her hand. The clatter it made when it hit the floor didn't sound right.

"Y-you… You're…" she stuttered.

"Yes, I'm alive. Whoever found me must really not be good at their job." I told her. "Now, if you don't mind. My clothes?"

"I-I…" She took a deep breath and composed herself. "I'll go see if I can find you a gown or something. Don't… Don't go anywhere, okay?" She took two steps back still facing towards me before she turned and walked over to the other side of the room and retrieved the gown. It was different from what I expected it to look like. A little thicker, and made of something that felt like a mixture of polyester and nylon. I took it from her began to put it on. Open butt slot or not, it was better than having nothing to wear altogether.

"Thank you," I said as I finished tying the back of it together.

"I, uh… You're welcome?"

A silence fell upon the room as neither of us could seem to come up with what we wanted to say next. I eventually just decided to call our predicament what it was.

"So… this is awkward."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Certainly weird. Dead guy alive and talking. Haven't ever had that happen before."

"I'm sure you haven't."

"I've been working here for over a hundred years, you know that? This has never happened. Never ever."

"I'm su— Wait what!? A hundred years?" Over a hundred years!?

"Yeah. I wanted to be a doctor, but so did every other Asari, I guess. So, I got stuck here working the job no one in their right mind would ever want to work." I was beginning to get the impression that she was still in shock, just saying whatever came to mind.

"Doctor," I guessed. "Please focus here. What did you mean by 'over a hundred years'?"

She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said after a while. "Sometimes I forget with how much time it's been since your species joined the galactic community that a lot of you still don't know how different our lifespans are. We Asari can live for well over a thousand years. My time here, however long in terms of a human life span, is only a fraction of my own."

"Oh," I replied dumbly, not really sure what to think about any of what she had just said. "You said you were Asari. Is that the name of your species?"

"Yes." She gave me an odd look. "You didn't know that?"

"No," I admitted. "I didn't. I take it such a thing is common knowledge here." Wherever the Hell "here" is.

She nodded. "You'd had to have been, how does the human expression go? 'Living under rock?' for decades now if you hadn't ever managed to come by this information."

"Well, I haven't. And I haven't spent decades living under a rock. I don't really understand anything about this place I am in now. Can you help me understand?"

She thought about it for a second. "Yes. I could help you with this. But before I can, I must ask you something first."

Oh boy, here we go. "Ask away."

"What's your name?"

Such a simple question. It felt refreshing to hear someone ask for it. The last person to do that was Annabelle. I hadn't realized until now how much I missed her.

"My name is Kaine," I told her.

She didn't appear to be visibly startled by the name, which was a personal first. "Is there another name to go with that? I know you humans tend to have two or three."

"No, it's just Kaine." 'Your name is Kaine, Kaine?' Annabelle had said.

"Then you may call me Serina." She held out her hand.

I looked at it for a moment before remembering that this was something people who just met each other did. It was kind of sad I hadn't personally done it myself before now. I had some of Peter's lingering memories running somewhere throughout my head that made the gesture strangely familiar, but that was just about it.

I looked her in the eye, took her hand, and shook it.

**A/N: I wanted to apologize beforehand to anyone who has read my Ultimate Spider-Man story and is awaiting some kind of any update. I promise you, one is coming soon. After finals week is over, I should have plenty of time to work on that story, along with some other projects I have in stock. I plan to work on this story as well and I plan on having it take place during the events of Mass Effect 2. I decided to go with Kaine because classic, unadulterated Peter Parker would not really fit into this universe (no offense to the other couple people who have written a cross-over like this one. You're the ones who inspired me to write this one) with all the killing. But Kaine, on the other hand, he was just perfect. Lots of character depth. Dark, brooding, and foreboding… Yeah, I'd say he'd fit in pretty well on the Normandy.**


	2. Chapter 2: Reality Check

**Chapter 2: Reality Check**

**Disclaimer: This story features characters, themes, setting locations, and other stuff from Mass Effect 2 and the Scarlet Spider, which are owned by Bioware and Marvel respectively. My only connection to these franchises is my Marvel Unlimited Geek Badge and the Insanity Achievement I got from completing Mass Effect 2. Please enjoy, and support the official releases.**

**Am I wrong? Have I run too far to get home? Have I gone?**

**-Alice in Chains: **_**Would?**_

* * *

You live a life vastly devoid of any remarkable human—scratch that—social relationships, and the most mundane gestures turn into the most alienating moments of your life. Shaking Serina's hand should have felt good. I was meeting someone, with whom I was coming to a mutual understanding. Even to someone like me you'd think that something like that would make sense.

But it doesn't.

During the decay, I listened in on a psychological lecture one of my targets was attending. The speaker was talking about the development of the human mind, and how the upbringing of an individual plays a big part in what ways the mind develops.

He said, "If say, some human being were stranded on an island like Tom Hanks in Castaway, and they were a child of maybe four or five years old, just before they had broken out in a social sense, then that child would in all likelihood grow to become feral, and perhaps mute if that child did not exercise their vocal cords enough.

"You see, as human beings, we have to talk to other people. If we don't, we hallucinate, and have conversations with pigments of our imagination. But if we have never had a conversation with another living being and we are left alone, we develop in such a way conducive to life on our own. In a place like the wild, where there are no rules and all of life's decisions are polarized into matters of life or death:

"It seems like a simple existence, doesn't it? Everything is either **one** _or_ **the other**:

"Eat, or starve and die.

"Keep warm, or freeze.

"Fight or flight.

"Kill or be killed…"

_Was I feral?_ I liked to think back then that when I killed people there was a reason for it: money, a place to hide out, to torture Ben or Peter. But these were things that the person I was fundamentally based on would never do. Yet, as soon as I was born, wasn't I technically my own person, since I was forming my own memories beyond an endless reel of wheat cakes and life with a loving aunt and uncle that weren't mine and paternal tragedy.

"In case you forgot Kaine, you had a tube. Remember?" Peter had said, and he was right. My "father" was Miles Warren. The Jackal. A man so obsessed with creating the perfect clone of Gwen Stacy, and hated Spider-Man so much that he cloned the both of them hundreds of times, seeking a perfect copy. When he made me, he immediately declared me a failure and tried to shoot me.

I ran and I fell into a chasm, the bottom of which was littered with all of the imperfect copies that had been made and discarded before me. Seeing all of the bodies, I was too shocked to move, which was probably for the best. When my "father" looked over the edge to check if I was dead, he grinned thinking I was dead and chuckled, "Well, back to work."

What followed next is all history. I became… **me.** I killed people who I felt deserved to die and killed others who someone with truckloads of money believed—in the simplest of terms—just had to die. Most of them paid me, and the ones who didn't still paid in the end.

In my infancy, I was stupid. I allowed myself to be manipulated into working for my "father" who claimed that he could reverse the degeneration that had plagued me since my creation. I helped him do unspeakable things, which now that I look back at them, I see why Peter, Ben, the Avengers, and every other hero on the surface of the planet wanted me indefinitely locked away in some asylum for the super-criminally insane.

Except for the Punisher. Nothing but six feet under really satisfies that guy. I swear, once I saw him go back to a scene cleaned out by him and Peter where he used non-lethal ammunition, and execute each and every one of the low-lives dumb enough to remain there. It's for that reason that I've tried to stay away from men like him.

You think a pissed off superhero is formidable? Wait till you see an ex-marine who spends all his spare time training and preparing to fight with an opponent who's got him beaten to all rights.

Except for the fact that they aren't the Punisher, which makes all the difference almost every time. He'll kill you if he feels you need to be killed. Without hesitation. There isn't a single criminal or supervillain on the planet that doesn't know that. Still, some of them are stupid enough to tangle with the guy regardless. (fucking idiots)

Me? I'm not stupid. I hear the Punisher is in town, or coming to town, and I'm the fuck out of there faster than you can crack a cross country—Mexican border joke. No wait, that's actually not accurate. I'd be the Hell out of town before you could so much as utter the first word of it and in a whole other hemisphere before you made it to the punchline. Contrary to popular belief, I don't openly go out in search of someone to fight.

But when I'm in a fight, I don't hold back. I punch, kick, web, and stab until whatever is threatening my life is reduced to a bloody pulp that is incapable of ever causing me harm again. It sounds savage in a violently intense way, but what do you expect? You live the kind of life I have, done the things I have done, suffered through the agony of death and rebirth time and time again, and **you** tell me if you don't become a little more thorough about your beat downs.

I mean, if I had been more thorough and killed Kraven instead of burying the asshole alive in the backyard of his mansion in upstate New York right in the burial plot he'd inscribed with my name and his signature, I might have been spared of being the Ritual Sacrifice his fucked up family used to bring him back to life after he ate the barrel of a rifle. I could have twisted his head off his head, killed anyone who might have witnessed me kill him, and his family would have been none the wiser. They'd probably have just decided that he had gone off to live in the Savage Land again.

The prophetic vision that I had, showing him standing before by dead body, grasping the bloodied instrument of my death, may have never come true. I would have never needed to be resurrected by the Queen, and turned into her tool. Her Tarantula. But then Peter would have never been able to save me, so I guess everything worked out for the best—more or less.

In the event that later on came to be distastefully referred to as "Spider Island," I once again found myself playing the role of the killer. Julia Carpenter, who I was surprised to learn had taken up the mantle of Madam Webb in Cassandra's place, later told me that it was the role that only I could play. Peter didn't have the 'strength' to deal the killing blow, she told me.

_It was always you._

I wasn't sure how I felt about that at the time. All my life, I have been told by Peter, Ben, and countless other heroes that I didn't have to kill. That I was sick. That I was a monster and needed help. And there was Madam Webb, a future-seeing, near omniscient being telling me that someone—no, _something_—like me was needed.

To kill the monsters that the heroes can't. To be able to walk along the gray precipice between light and dark, and be able to cross that line into the darkness whenever it was necessary. It was what I had always been destined to do, even after all the years I spent playing the role of the monster that should have been killed. It was a role that I was now more than willing to play.

As:

Kaine; the assassin.

Kaine; **The Other.**

And as much as it pains me to admit it: Kaine; the Scarlet Spider (Forgive me Ben).

Of course, I couldn't tell _her_ any of that shit. Not if I didn't want to end up in the asylum of the future, which I imagine would be a lot more difficult to escape from than Ravencroft had been. And there probably wasn't a single doctor there that legitimately cared for the patients like Ashley Kafka had.

I shifted uncomfortably on her couch as Serina's eyes met mine again. I looked away and thought about how I should spin this. I wasn't much of a story teller, and I had never been too good at coming up with convincing lies. Never had to be. There had always been the option of just leaving town before inquiries were even made in the first place and in Houston, I had hardly even bothered to hide what I was from the people who knew me. But now, what would be the point? This world—universe even—didn't know of me. Serina had offered to teach me about this place, and was probably one of few people who would abandon all reason and decide not to report that one of the "stiffs" she had taken out of stasis had been alive the entire time.

_Come on, what would Peter say?_ I asked myself. How did he do it? How did he come up with lies to feed everyone he knew just to keep his secret safe? I should know this—I was made from his DNA for God's sakes!

Serina, no doubt noticing my hesitation to speak leaned forward with a concerned look on her face. "Kaine? Are you alright?"

The words come out of my mouth before I even think of something to say. "Yeah, I'm okay. It's just… I keep thinking about it and I can't remember how I even ended up in that pod in the first place."

There was genuine pity in her eyes as she frowned. "You mean you don't—"

"No, I don't remember dying." I finished for her, my voice naturally taking on a somber tone. Wow, this is actually… much easier than I thought. Mix a little truth in with the lies, and there you go. You have a believable fiction cocktail that was in all likelihood easier to swallow than the truth was.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her brow furrowed as if she were considering something. "Do you remember anything from before?"

"There are some things, but they're all kind of blurred. Whenever I think about it, I feel as if I'm looking through fogged glass. Only when I try to wipe off the condensation, it turns out that it's on the other side, completely beyond reach."

"But surely there must be something," she supposed. "You remembered your name, after all. As well as general knowledge on how to communicate in human standard."

_Shit._

She had me there. If I knew my name, then surely I had to know something else. In her position, I would have doubted the whole amnesia thing if the only thing I could remember was my name. Shouldn't that have been one of the main things I should have forgotten? I didn't know much about amnesia, but I'd wager that my name probably would have been one of the main key memories I would have forgotten. Wait, that's it…

A key memory. What was the one thing that stuck to the top of my mind?

"I… I think I had a brother," I told her.

"What do you mean by 'had'? What happened to him Kaine?"

I closed my eyes as if to visualize what had actually happened to Ben, and without even intending to picture anything, I watch Ben's death unfold before my eyes. Osborn's glider heading for Peter. Ben jumping in front of it and getting impaled, one of the spears severing his spine. The fall from the top of the Daily Bugle all the way down to the streets below. I watch him utter his last words to Peter, but I don't know what they are. And as the light leaves his eyes, I know I never will.

"He… he was murdered." My words radiate anger and primal rage. I feel them stir the monster within me and threaten to awaken the monster lying dormant within me. I disguise the deep breath I take to calm it as a pained sigh. "I think his name was Ben."

She doesn't say anything in reply at first. She looks so sad. She pities me. If she only knew what she were feeling bad for, I wonder if she'd still have felt the same. On a whole other note, I find out that the human race is not the only one with tear ducts. "I… I'm sorry Kaine. I didn't mean to force you to relive that… Were you two close?"

I thought for a moment, and an image of me running him down as he flees from me on his motor cycle. He's really gunning the thing, but he's nowhere near fast enough to outrun me. I grab him by the back of the neck and throw him far. As he soars through the air, his motorcycle continues on into oncoming traffic. A small sedan hits it at a relative velocity that makes the clashing of the two vehicles sound like a clap of thunder.

Astonished, I watch as the man in the driver seat is impaled by some displaced part of the car engine or the motorcycle. I couldn't really tell which. It didn't really matter in the general scheme of what I'd caused.

_"What in the Hell have you done Kaine!?" _

Before I can reply, my brother hits me hard enough that I have to stagger my feet to absorb the blow. Unlike other times, he hadn't held back. I grinned as I wiped away the blood from my lip. _"The man never had to die, Reilly. This was your fault. If you had just fought me—the monster you know you are—then he would still be ali—"_

He kicked high before I could finish my sadistic monologue and I return back to sitting with Serina. "We were brothers," I told her. "We didn't really get along too well. We fought a lot." I looked down at the floor between us and went back just for a moment.

_"Shut! _Up!_"_ he screamed, grappling my arm and throwing me to the ground. He looked over to the car and saw that the man was sputtering blood out of his mouth—still alive. _"Kaine—_brother. _Stay down so I can help him. Or better yet,_ help. _This—what Warren turned you into—isn't who we are. It's not what Peter is. It's not _who _you are!" _

"But Ben always saw the best in me. He always saw the best in everybody."

"He sounds like he was a very good man," she said earnestly.

"He was," I manage to choke out. The more I look back at what an asshole I was and how hard Ben tried to help me, it gets difficult. It makes me want to hang up the fucking costume because I'm not worthy of the mantle. He was a hero and I'm…

I am what I am.

"Do you want to talk about something else?" she offered.

"Sure," I said, just glad to have the conversation steered away from me. "Do you think you could give me a—I don't know—a crash course in the uh, galaxy (and stuff)?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Sure." She sits still thinking long enough for the silence to become awkward.

"You gonna start?" I ask. _Sometime soon would be nice._

"Yeah. I'm going to it's just… I'm at a loss of where I should begin."

"Well, I don't know, how about you start with some of the bigger, overarching stuff and work your way from there?"

She beamed confidently at me. "I can do that."

It turns out she wasn't all that bad at explaining things. She talked long into the night and told me all kinds of things that almost made a world in which heroes and villains clash perpetually seem rational by comparison.

She started with how the galaxy is divided. A large part of it is maintained and patrolled by an interspecies union referred to somewhat enigmatically as "the Council." Not that the names and species of the members are not a matter of public record. She told me that there were currently four Council species, but for a long time there had only been three after the last race to be booted out of the Council created a race of autonomous machines that eventually—not to mention unsurprisingly—rose against their creators, and pretty much all other organics in the galaxy.

Humanity and its _Alliance_ had apparently "proven" (as Serina put it) itself recently. Though Serina's species' definition of "recent" might be much different than my own since whatever had happened had gone down a little over two years ago. She decided not to bore me too much with the details and basically summed up events in a couple sentences:

_"A human agent stopped a rogue Specter from supposedly unleashing a race of sentient machines called the Reapers upon the Galaxy. In spite of the abject condescendence directed toward her race, this human decided to sacrifice thousands of human lives to save the Council."_

When I asked her what a Specter was, her expression twisted almost immediately into one of pure abhorrence.

"They're the dogs of the Council. If there's anything that they need done that they can't do because their hands are bureaucratically tied, they send _them_. Some of them are sensible beings, selected mainly for both their diplomatic and ruthless prowess. A lot of them are killers worse than the beings they're assigned to exterminate."

I made note never to involve myself in the affairs of a Specter and steered the conversation elsewhere. "What do you think about this whole 'Reapers' thing?" I asked her, my attention still piqued from when she'd mentioned them earlier. "Do you really think there's a whole mass of these machines just sitting somewhere, waiting for the call to exterminate all organic life throughout the galaxy?"

She seemed to give it some considerable thought to her answer. "No. I don't think so. I think the human made them up to propose a threat that would convince the Council races to mobilize against the rogue Specter that had for a long time been a bane to her species' advancement in the galactic community." She paused for a moment and turned her head toward the dusk gloom that'd seeped through the drawn shades on the window.

"But sometimes I think: 'what if'?" she says softly. "What if they were really out there? Just… waiting." She shivered in her seat for a moment. "It frightens me."

"If what I've heard about the ship that attacked the Citadel is true," she continued, "and there were a lot more of them out there, we wouldn't be able to stop them. It wouldn't matter how hard we fought or what strategy we implemented. We'd all be systematically exterminated until the galaxy was entirely devoid of organic life."

As I listened to her, tingling chills crept up and down my back. The Other scoffed in its slumber at the prospect of there being a race of predators that could turn it into prey. Neither of us said anything until Serina noticed the time.

"It looks like it's almost time for my next shift," she said.

"Next shift?" I echoed back, a little confused. "Shit. Is it already tomorrow?"

"If by 'tomorrow' you mean today, then yes. It's 'already tomorrow.'" She got up and stretched her arms and legs. "Illium's day-night cycle is not so different from your homeworld's."

"Wait," I said as I started to stand, "What about me? Should I just wait here? Or, uh… I mean, I could sleep on the—"

"No, of course not. I only really skimmed your file, but I remember something about possessions found on your person that have since been filed away in the Precinct building of the district they found your… body in."

That little bit of news alone erased any hint of tiredness I might have had at that moment and I couldn't help but smile. Finally some good news. "When do we leave?"

"I have to shower and change into something else. We'll leave after that. So, I guess about fifteen-twenty minutes." She started on her way out of the room.

"Okay, I'll just… wait here then."

She got to the doorway of what I assumed was her bedroom and looked back at me. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and kept on her way through the doorway.

The door closed behind her with a resolute swish.

Thirty four agonizing minutes later, Serina was ready, and we headed out the door, down the hall, and to the skycar terminal integrated into the side of her apartment building. Of all the samples of futuristic technosociety I had seen so far of Illium (was that it?), the skycar system was by far one of the most notable advancements. It was a form of relatively cheap public transportation that was expedient and overwhelmingly safe due to the fact that it ran on an automated system that drove the car to the passenger's destination of choice, while accurately predicting and avoiding all hazards along the way. It was a marvel that probably would have made it difficult for Peter to miss the shitty cab drivers in New York.

Serina input the location of the Precinct building into the system and the car shot off as soon as we were properly strapped into the cab. I thought about asking her why we were heading to the Precinct building so soon when her shift was due to begin not too long from now, but kept my mouth shut and ended up just staring at her wordlessly until she took notice.

Somehow she picked up on my unvoiced question.

"Kaine, don't worry. I can be late every once in a while," she assured me, "and this would be the first time I have ever been late since I started working there. Besides, we're doing this so you can start getting back your identity. If I were in your position, I'd argue that was more important than a bunch of stiffs who quite frankly no longer have any need for their identities.

"Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes I—" I started, feeling a pang of guilt for lying to her earlier about a great deal of things. It had been necessary to lie to her. But now she was going out of her way to do things for me out of sympathy and pity that I didn't deserve…

_This Universe must have a pretty fucked up sense of humor_.

"Thank you," I finally managed to say.

She smiled a little and held up her hand, "That's not necessary, Kaine. To tell you to the truth, I'm probably just about as intrigued about what the officers who brought you in found on your person."

Well, at least she's honest. "How much longer till we get there?"

She checked at the readout on the console and told me we'd be there in about five minutes. Not much time at all, which was good because I'm certainly not one to be known for my patience.

Neither of us said anything to the other for the rest of the ride there. I spent most of the time looking out the window to the city that lived beyond it.

Illium seemed like quite the planet. In a way, it reminded me a little of Earth, and to some extent New York. It almost looked as if the city was alive. Everything in it was in a constant state of flux. The people always seemed to be in some sort of rush to get somewhere. Sky cars and all sorts of other vehicles—shuttles, I guess—flew every which way. I even caught a glimpse of a couple heading on an atmospheric escape path.

Peter would so have had a geek-gasm at that. That is, if he hadn't allowed the stench of the rampant corporatism on Illium to drag his spirits down. I say stench because you don't even need to look at it. It's there, and the fat fucks in those ivory towers aren't even trying to deny it. In fact, if anything they're pushing it as if to say:

"We are in fucking control of this place. You do not matter. Your loss is my gain."

These assholes almost make me want to give into The Other, so I can tear them limb, from limb, from limb, and ask them what it's like losing an arm and a leg just to get by.

The Other stirs within me, growling. _Oh, you shut the fuck up. If we up and turn into a giant spider the only thing that's going to happen is we'll devour the one person who has helped us since we got here. After that, we'll no doubt be gunned down by cops armed to the teeth with fucking rail guns, which I seriously doubt we can dodge, let alone sustain a single hit from. _

It groans. Almost like you might expect a spoiled to child to after their parents deny them of something they want, but off… in a way so fucked up and demented I don't even know how to describe it.

Our skycar suddenly slowed from a decent speed to a crawl in the span of a couple seconds. The inertial dampeners that Serina had told me a little about in our conversation earlier nullified our forward momentum to the point that it was imperceptible. The skycar shook for a moment as its vertical takeoff and landing engines engaged and the skycar gradually descended onto a modest landing platform. I noticed that there was no staff needed to guide the craft in as the thing landed just fine on its own.

"You have arrived at _'Nos Astra District Police Headquarters,' _landing platform seven," a monotonous feminine voice said as the skycar's door started to open outward like the dove wing doors I'd seen on some of the newer Mercedes back home. "Please collect all belongings and exit the car. Your fare has already been charged to your credit chit. And as always: thank you for choosing Portau."

I rolled my eyes at that last statement. It was a joke. Because Portau was the only fucking public trans company on the planet. They had a monopoly on the whole industry. Given how screwed up some things are here, I'd even venture to say that they have a planetary bound patent on the whole service of public transportation.

I followed Serina out the door and stepped down from the cabin of the skycar. The police station we'd come to was embarrassingly small compared to the other buildings that were around it. _I guess that's how much they value the law around here,_ I thought to myself, _which is to say, "not at all."_ And yet Serina seems to hold some stock of faith in it for some reason.

We walked alongside one another to the front of the building. When we got to the door, Serina stopped and turned toward me. "The captain here was killed in a raid about a week ago, so now his lead detective is in charge. She's… a bit of a handful."

"Do you think she's going to cause us problems?" I asked.

"Hopefully not," she sighed. "Anaya's a pain in the ass to deal with directly, but she's a decent cop. She'll handover whatever you had on you that night."

I nodded and said, "Okay." There was no point dwelling on 'what-ifs,' especially since they usually end up fucking an already screwed up situation more than it already is.

Serina placed her hand on the biometric panel next to the door, and it took a genetic log of her entry into the building as we walked in together.

Inside, there was a nominal amount of activity. Most of the officers on duty were perched in front of holoscreens tap-tap-tapping away at reports or whatever. Doing paperwork. I fought the urge to let out a dark chuckle at the utter absurdity of the bureaucracy here. It was no doubt literally keeping the police from doing their fucking jobs. I'm sure the big wigs in their palatial offices thought that was really funny.

_Assholes._

Serina took a couple wandering steps in, looking for Anaya as I followed slightly behind and beside her. Some of the cops gave me odd looks as I walked past. I wonder if any of them had been the ones to take my body in. By the time we finally came upon Anaya's desk, most eyes in the room were on Serina and I.

Anaya didn't seem to notice us until she'd finished whatever she'd been working on and looked up at us. She arched her brow as she briefly looked us over. Then she turned toward the desk nearest to hers and ordered the subordinate sitting there to check over the document she was about to send over before sending it to some place called "Central."

After a brief stutter, the drone got to working on it at once. When Anaya turned back to us, she was smirking. It didn't last long though as she was scowling at us before we even knew it.

"What!" She demanded.

Serina stepped forward. "This is the man officer Valesk found dead in Telaria Square," she said plainly. "As you can see, he isn't so dead. He's here because he wants his belongings back."

Anaya's eyes narrowed as they leered at me. "So you're him, huh?"

"Yes," Serina and I answer. Serina gives me a sharp glance, not happy that I'd spoken in spite of what she'd told me before.

She leaned back in her chair and meticulously tapped her fingers together. "You know, you're quite the enigma, mister—"

"Kaine," I told her. "My name is Kaine."

She continued on as if she hadn't broken stride to prod for my name. "—Kaine... You don't appear in any of our databases. The case we found on your body can't be opened or scanned through any conventional means. And here you stand before me perfectly alive, after having been confirmed dead."

I had nothing to say back. I knew less about all this shit than she did, most likely. Plus, if my instincts are right, she's still not finished with her little rant.

"So, who are you, Mr. Kaine?"

"I—"

"—He doesn't remember, Anaya," Serina quickly answered for me. "Whatever happened to him has caused him to suffer from acute retrograde amnesia."

Anaya stared impassively at the two of us for what felt like a long while. "You're joking."

"No. I'm not," Serina responded, meeting her gaze. "I wouldn't have taken off from work today if I didn't believe what Kaine has told me."

Anaya sighed, muttering a colorful stream of curses under her breath.

"Fine. Whatever" She conceded. "The case is in evidence lock-up. Check in with Benson and have Kaine fill out all of the necessary documentation to retrieve his case. Then, get the Hell out of my station. I've enough aggravations to deal with today."

Serina formally bowed to Anaya and thanked her while her head was down. Then she started off toward the other side of the room, where there was another one of those doors with a biometric panel beside it. I followed close behind her, noticing as we walked this time, that just about all of the officers that had found us interesting just moments before had become completely indifferent toward our presence in their precinct building.

I added that odd particularity to the giant mound of others I had already amassed since I showed up here as we slipped through the door and entered a room separated by counter fenced off with a translucent blue energy field. No doubt some sort of Element Zero shenanigans at play.

As it turned out, Benson was a dark complexioned human with a slightly above average height. He seemed young, but he had a significant amount of gray in his mane and in the short stubble that ran along his jawline and the bottom of his chin.

He looked up tiredly at us as we came up to the desk.

Serina and I glanced at one another and I nodded at her, giving her the go ahead to take the lead on this. It was as much a peace offering I could manage for fouling up earlier.

"Benson!" she called to him.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"This man is here to retrieve his belongings," she said, gesturing to me, "which were locked up accidentally in evidence."

"Okay…" He sounded skeptical, and Serina was quick to correct that attitude.

"You can call up Anaya if you'd like," she said casually, "but I wouldn't. She's terribly busy. Who knows what she's liable to do to the first person who interrupts her?"

Benson gulped audibly. I'm sure his mind was conjuring up images of the not-so-pleasant future that could very well await him if he didn't just shut-up and simply do his job.

"Right, we wouldn't want that," he said edgily.

He reached underneath the counter and my whole body went instinctually rigid, preparing to pounce if the man's hand came back grasping a weapon. It didn't. Instead in his hand was a small holographic panel with a blanked out screen. Benson woke it with a motion gesture and then set it down as he went to work on his console. His eyes whisked back and forth as he peeled through quite a few pages of information until he found exactly what he was looking for and diverted his attention back to the panel.

It had changed. Where it had once been blank, there was now a page chock full of text and signature lines. Benson pushed the panel across the counter towards me. "Sign on each of the lines. I'll be right back." He pushed back his chair and disappeared into the evidence stores before I could so much as ask him where the fucking stylus I'd need to sign it was.

I sighed and grabbed the panel off the counter. I attempted to sign using my pointer finger. It passed right through the display as if it wasn't even there. I turned the panel over in my hands and checked for the stylus. There wasn't one.

Finally fed up, I asked, "Serina, how the Hell do I sign this thing?"

She looked at me wordlessly in astonishment until she must've remembered that I didn't know the first thing about this kind of crap. "It runs on a basic gesture system. Try holding your hand in front of it the way you would grasp any writing utensil."

I took my thumb, pointer, and middle fingers and brought them together on my right hand while I held the panel up with my left, and sure enough, an orange hologram of a pen appeared in my hand. I couldn't feel it, but at least I could actually control it. I pressed my holopen against the display of the panel, and sure enough it made a mark. I began to sign the first of the many lines there were and nearly found myself including "Parker" as part of my whole name. It felt odd to omit it, but that was probably what little there was of Peter within me acting up again.

I regarded Serina for a moment and thanked. She gave me a warm smile in return and I got back to work on the rest of the lines. By the time I was finished with all twenty-three of them, Benson had returned with a seemingly generic silver brief case.

"You done signing and all?" he asked.

I handed him the panel. "Yeah. Here."

"Then this is yours." He slid the case across the counter. "Good luck opening it," he muttered.

I placed my hands atop it and examined the front of the case. Just above its metal handle was a locking mechanism in the shape of a spider. Its eight eyes glowed a deep amber color, as did the tips of each of its jagged legs and mandibles.

"_**THAT IS MY SEAL. I HAVE NOT SEEN IT SINCE ANASI LAST INVOKED IT."**_

_What? You _actually_ have something to contribute for once? _I asked The Other. It elected to ignore my flippant remark.

"_**THIS WAS LEFT FOR US. SHED OUR BLOOD UPON THE SEAL AND IT WILL BREAK."**_

_What's inside of it? What's in the case? _

There was no answer. I guess that was for us to find out.

I set the palm of my hand against the mandibles and pressed down onto them—hard. Our blood flowed from my hand and enveloped the spider, not a single drop fell upon the counter. Behind me, Serina exhaled sharply.

"Kaine! Why did you—"

Grimacing, I began to pull my hand away, and as I did I could feel the tissue and skin on my hand instantly reweave itself as the mandibles left the flesh. When it was all out, I held my fully healed hand so that she could see.

"—How?"

Not really knowing what the fuck had happened myself, I didn't really have a plausible answer to that question. "I don't know," I told her. It didn't take a genius to tell that she definitely wasn't satisfied with my answer, but that was all I had.

The amber glow faded from the spider and the case slowly began to open. Inside it was a scrap of blood red fabric with a black spider emblazoned in the center of it.

"What is it, Kaine?" Serina asked, her voice taking on an almost accusatory tone.

It was a piece of my costume. I took it out of the case and held it stretched out inches away from my face.

_Heal._ I willed it.

It was so subtle you could only notice it if you were looking for it, but the tattered edges of what was left of my costume had slowly begun expanding outwards. Given enough time and thought, it could be whole once again.

I cancelled my mental command and offered the scrap to Serina so she could have a look at it.

"This is mine. I don't remember much about it. But I can't shake this feeling that it's a large part of who I am."

* * *

**Elsewhere; a Rather Discomforting Distance from a Red Supergiant:**

"How far along is the project?" he asked, taking another puff of his cigar as he watched the dying star fluctuate on the holodisplay.

"We're nearing the final stages now. My staff assures me that we're just a few months away from completion. Given preliminary results, I agree with their assessment."

"Good. We need her up soon. Another colony just went dark. I sent Jacob along with an incursion team to investigate."

"They won't find anything there," she pointed out.

"I know. But someone out there is quietly abducting tens of thousands of human beings in the fringes of the Terminus systems. There's new player in the galaxy, and they're up to something. I'm concerned about what it might be."

The woman blinked. There was something about the look in her employer's eye that betrayed that statement. _He's not just concerned_, she thought. _He's worried._ This was a part of him that he had never allowed to slip through the illusive mental barriers he had in place that made him near impossible to read. Just knowing about it was probably even more dangerous than this new player was.

"Do you think that whatever is happening to the colonists has to do with the Collectors?" she asked.

He tapped his cigar and over the ashtray built into his control chair. "I have my suspicions," he said, bringing up a collection of holographic windows with a mental command to his neural implant. One of them had the initial analysis of the particle beam weaponry that had been used to destroy the Normandy SR1. The next few were images taken from the Normandy's blackbox failsafe of the Collector vessel that had so easily destroyed the most advanced ship the Alliance had ever produced. The holographic panel that he brought up was the complete analysis of the Reaper that had attacked the Citadel about two years back, beside it was a high res image of the hulking synthetic itself.

He had been studying the Collectors and this Reaper and had found some peculiar similarities specifically in their weapon, drive, and shield technology, but it was too little to go on since the scan stored within the blackbox had been hastily done when performed and wasn't entirely complete. Even so, he couldn't shake the gut feeling he had that the Reapers were involved in some way; and the Collectors too, to some end.

"I want you to review this information that I had the Fenrir Cell put together," he said, handing her a tiny data chip. "Try to get them to our informant within the Shadow Broker's organization and see if he can learn anything else about them."

"Of course."

"After you have done that, I want you to accelerate our schedule on the Lazarus Project. We need her ready in weeks, not months. If any of the data on that OSD is pertinent, then any later than that will have been too late."

**A/N: Hi everyone, I apologize it took so long to get this out. I was a lot busier over my break than I thought I would be, and in addition to that, I've been having some acute writer's block. Thank you to those who have followed and reviewed. **

**The story shall go on. **

**(((SPOILER ALERT)))**

**I also wanted to say something else. This note was written Wednesday January 21****st****, 2015. In Amazing Spider-Man Volume 3 Issue 13, which came out today, Kaine was "apparently killed" (that's what it says on the wiki) by Morlun. I freaking hope Dan Slott is just trying to exercise his kill-happy scare tactics, but the way in which Kaine was killed leads me to believe that his death might be final. **

**The death of the last remaining Spider Clone **(other than Jessica Drew (1610), Peter Parker (Scorpion (1610) and Spidercide II (616))**. Y'know, since they killed off the last remaining Ben Reilly this week in Scarlet Spiders #3. **

**I mean, what the Hell!?**

**I'm a little pissed off. Which is probably good, because being angry will only make my representation of Kaine in this story that much more accurate. **

**Heh, I should see if I can get my key board to gradually turn green as I type faster and faster and more frantically on it. Then when it finally reaches the maximum level of green it can manage, "HULK SMASH" blares from the speakers, followed by the sounds of some copy and paste explosions from a bunch of Michael Bay movies. Man, that would be great.**

**Anyway, private message me or review if you have any questions or suggestions. **

**Academ out.**

**Update:**

**Today is February 25, 2015, and the Spider-Verse Epilogue just came out as I am typing this additional note. I have some good news for all the Scarlet Spider fans there are out there:**

**Kaine lives! **

**Now, I understand you've all been waiting so long and that you're all pissed off that it's taken so long for me to release this update. So, I'm going to give you a sample of one of the original drafts for this story in addition to a teaser of the next chapter:**

**Chapter 3: Fatal Attraction**

Kaine has his first run-in with the criminal element of Illium and finds he'll have to make some adjustments if he is to survive.

There's a doctor in town. You don't know him, but the Eclipse mercenary group and the Shadow Broker's elite certainly do, and they're hunting him.

**And lastly… Blasto the Hanar Specter makes a special guest jelly appearance!**

* * *

After her shift was over at the morgue, Serina and I took a skycar back to her apartment. It was on one of the upper floors of the tallest building I had ever seen in my life. Any view of the surface of the planet we're on disappeared around half the way up its enormous height. I imagine if Peter had been in my place, he'd be wondering how the building's supports could compensate for its mass. The only thing I can think about is how much fun it's going to be to webswing so high up. That, and at least I wouldn't have to worry about running out of skyscrapers like I had in Houston.

I was surprised to learn that there wasn't any fare for the car we took. When I asked Serina about it, she told me that she purchased an annual pass for an arbitrary amount of credits. All she had to do was feed her unique credit chit into the car's receptor, and the thing would take her virtually anywhere she wanted to go. It was pretty neat. I figured it might help me save biomass if I resorted to the taking the skycar instead of webswinging everywhere.

Serina's apartment was much larger than I had expected it was going to be, but was nothing compared to the presidential suite at the Four Seasons, and I doubted her rent here was over 2000 credits per night. Given the simple, open layout of the place, I could tell that she lived alone. Her furniture was arranged based on functionality rather than fashionably, and the kitchen contained a very limited amount of silverware, glasses, and plates.

I recognized her solidarity because I had lived like this once, though my way back then was nowhere near as refined as hers. Even though money had never been an issue with all of the assassination contracts I pulled off, I had never really felt the need for personal belongings beyond the bare necessities. Like clothes. But I never formed a personal attachment to those either, they were just replaceable garments I used to conceal my degradation.

She told me to have a seat on one of the couches. I took a look at one of them. They were cyanic blue, and… leather-looking. A thought crossed my mind that it was actually made of the skin of other Asari. Kraven had done something like that to my kind, and the fucker had been human. Who would I be to discount the possibility of there being an entire species out there comprised of fuckers like him?

I look towards the other end of apartment at Serina. She's preparing something in what I can only assume is the kitchen. There's this small smile on her face that feels… warm. Maybe even welcoming. Her violet eyes are moving every which way between ingredients and instruments as she works on her concoction. The thoughtfulness and care in them reminds me of Meland. I remembered him being like that around his patients.

Meland had been good people. He'd been one among the few people who came the closest to being a friend.

I sat down on the couch. The cushions gave way to my form and only stopped contorting when I felt most comfortable. _Smart furniture?_ I thought. _Neat_. If that was what it was, at least. Could've just been some really expensive piece of furniture that was quite simply designed to be inherently comfortable. I didn't really care though. Thinking too hard about that kind of shit would only keep me from enjoying it. So, screw that.

A couple minutes later, Serena walked into the living room holding two steaming cups of what I could only assume was tea. The only thing off about it is that it was blood red. The odor coming off of it was bitter sweet, however, which wasn't that out-of-the-ordinary.

"Here," she said softly as she offered me one of the cups. I reached out with two hands and she pulled it back sharply just as I was about to take it from her. "Be careful!" she warned. "It's really hot."

I nodded reassuringly back to her. "I'll be careful." Then I took the steaming up from her hands as gently as I could, not paying any mind to the sting of the burn. It barely registered as pain anyway. As I brought the cup to my lips, she took a seat on the couch parallel to the one I had sat one, across the coffee table. The tea tasted exactly as it had smelled, but as the little bit that I'd sipped settled in my mouth, it took on qualities that were beyond just flavor. It was soothing, in this odd way I couldn't quite put a finger on, and it made me feel more… focused somehow.

"What is this?" I asked her, setting the cup down on the table.

She leaned forward and put her own glass down. "It's Thessian tea. It's a delicacy on my home world."

"This planet we're on isn't your home world?"

She shook her head. "No. Thankfully. We're on a planet inside the Terminus Systems called Illium."

"Illium?" I replied, drawing a complete blank.

She sighed, "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you Kaine?"

"Not a clue," I admitted. "But I want to know. Tell me more."

She muttered something under her breath and sighed again. "Okay… This is going to take a while."

It did.

Serina talked long into the night. Telling me about things I had never heard of, let alone dreamed of. Some scientific phenomena called the Mass Effect that allows for the inhabitants of the galaxy to travel faster than light. An extinct species of precursors called Protheans. Her species' initial discovery of some space station, or structure, called the Citadel. How the technology of the galaxy developed following the general path the Protheans had followed.

She told me about other species that eventually joined the galactic fold. Turians, Salarians, Volus, Krogan, Batarians, Quarians, and some others whose names faded from memory as soon as she started to give me the general rundown on them.

From what she told me, I assumed the Turians were a warmonger society. With the largest fleets, and one of the most disciplined militaries, how could they not be? They were reptilian in appearance, and given a few second-hand memories I inherited of Peter's first encounters with the Lizard, that meant they were genetically prone to violence and a massive inferiority complex, which was just _great_. Because the galaxy didn't already have enough raging douche bags in it.

My impression of the Salarians was that they were a species entirely comprised of the kind of Nazi scientists America imported during the course of and after the Second World War. Scientifically obsessed to the point that the concept of morality in their society has almost entirely been phased out. And secretive, because they're too smart to not have something to hide. Probably a secret so guarded that its existence in of itself is another secret on its own. I decided right then that if I ever personally met a Salarian, I would reserve my trust until it was earned entirely.

When she told me about the Volus, I thought she was joking. A species that requires a respirator at all times and has lungs so small that it can barely manage to speak in complete sentences? The fact that they're fat, short, and slow only added more insult to injury. How the Hell could they have ever developed in such a way? I found myself thinking that maybe Darwin's Theory of Evolution needed to factor in the utter stupidity of the universe into the overall concept of natural selection.

I found I could relate to the Krogan. They were born imperfect. Their species was slowly dying because someone had made them that way. In the time since the implementation of the Genophage, the size of the Krogan population had diminished, yet the occurrence of Krogan related violence throughout the galaxy had only increased. They were angry beings that had always been familiar with violence. The Salarians had only added to that fire, and given them a legitimate reason to hate the rest of the galaxy.

The Batarians, on the other hand, seemed like complete assholes right off the bat. Pirates, slavers, stimulant dealers… These bastards were the scum of the galaxy and they bore that distinction with some sick kind of pride. It pissed me off to hear that no species other than humanity had ever raised a hand against them. I figured there was probably some behind-the-scenes political bullshit going on that was leaving humanity to fend for itself against them.

I pitied the Quarians, and my pity is not earned easily. They were a displaced species of vagrants that had been blackballed by the rest of the Galaxy because they incidentally created a faction of sentient machines called the Geth. No one seems to be able comprehend that such an occurrence was an eventuality and was hardly the fault of the Quarians. None of them are able to admit that they were probably on their _own_ way to developing autonomous labor drone of their own. Not that they'll ever speak of it, or grant the Quarians the slightest bit of slack. From what I could figure, the Quarians weren't going to last much longer as a species. Their immune systems had decayed a great deal aboard their Flotilla, and there would eventually come a time when life for them would be impossible altogether.

Serina did not seem too fond of her own species—the Asari—which came as a surprise to me at first. She thought they were snobby and self-obsessed. 'Like a foster parent who'd become jealous of their adopted children.' That was how she put it. The Asari had problems. Genetic diversity, for one. Serena told me after I asked what the male of her species looked like that the Asari are asexual beings. They mate through some telepathic experience that basically amounted to a literal mind-fuck for them, and they could do it with any species. But because of some mass experimentation with gene therapy earlier on in their existence, most of them had come to look, and on the genetic level, _be_ the same.

She was hesitant to talk about it, but after some prodding, I found out that about a hundred years ago, the children of the Asari started to be born with defects. Defects that often warranted their "disposal" or "perpetual containment" at the hands of some fucked up cult of religious purists called the Justicar Order. It made me want to break something expensive when I heard that the Justicars were a well-respected organization throughout the galaxy. To most Asari, they were heroes whose "righteous" mission superseded the law on most occasions.

I didn't want to hear any more about the Asari after that and I politely asked Serina to change the topic to something else. She must have understood why because she shifted the topic over to the human race's part in this massive space opera.

Humanity was introduced to the galaxy through war. I can't say I'm surprised by that. First Contact was never something that had ever gone over well for the human race. The First Contact War, as it was called, was long and bloody, but ultimately it ended with humanity making peace with the Council and the Turian Hierarchy. Since then, the human race has only engrained itself deeper into the galactic community: establishing colonies, securing an ambassador on the Citadel, and most recently, inducting the very first human into the Council's equivalent of the Secret Service. Which once again, I was not surprised to learn that said organization had a cute little acronym to go along with it.

S-P-E-C-ial T-actics and R-econniassance.

**SPECTRE.**

I swear, someone out there must always be trying really, really hard to come up with crap like that. Seriously, where the Hell do all of these acronyms come from?

The first human Spectre was a woman named Rayna Shepard…


End file.
